Notes From Night Vale
by pagerunner
Summary: A repository for WTNV (and, inevitably, Cecilos) drabbles and other story snippets.
1. Snowstorm

_1. Snowstorm_

It shouldn't be snowing. Not in the heart of the desert, not even in winter, where it should be cold, yes, but drier than this. Still, snowing it is, and everyone's caught in the wonder of it—especially Cecil, who's trying to claim he's not actually bouncing on his toes before the window like an excited little boy.

"We don't even know what it is yet," Carlos reminds him, gathering up sensors and cameras in between pecking at his phone. His colleagues have been leaving messages about the weather, which is disconcerting; he keeps expecting the voice mails to burst into song. "The way things happen in this town, that snow might be toxic, or it'll burn you instead of freeze, or it could be blowing in from some parallel dimension where the residents want to eat us—"

He cuts himself off before he actually blurts out, _Or it could just be spun sugar and shaving cream for all I know._ Not that it matters, really. Cecil's looking at him with fond exasperation, as if he'd heard that harried laugh that Carlos hadn't quite voiced.

"Carlos," he says, with exaggerated patience. "What does this look like to you?"

He sets down his equipment and runs a hand through his hair. "Snow, I admit, but—"

Cecil pushes the window open. "And what does it feel like?"

They stand in the chilled air for a moment before Carlos has to admit that yes, it's cold, and the snowflakes drifting against the windowsill look like ordinary snowflakes. He holds out one hand, watching another flake melt harmlessly against his skin.

"It feels real," he murmurs. "Maybe it is."

Cecil, meanwhile, is staring, caught by an unexpected thought. "Snow has a smell?"

It does, and it's a proper snow-like scent: crisp and bright and unmistakable. Carlos breathes it in, sighing with nostalgia despite himself. It really is snow, here in Night Vale, where it assuredly doesn't belong.

Then again, what on earth can possibly be impossible in a place like this?

Carlos is almost ready to suggest they go find their coats. Cecil, though, simply exclaims, "We can make snow angels!" and dashes for the door. Carlos is left chuckling in his wake.

"So we can admit that _those_ exist here, then?" Carlos murmurs wryly. He can't help wondering what shape they'll take. Maybe the swept-arm silhouettes will start growing extra ranks of wings, or multiple heads or glowing eyes…

But then he sees Cecil with his arms outstretched, face to the sky, and laughing like it's the best moment he's ever had. That right there is what matters. Every other thought melts away in an instant.

Fortunately, the improbable snow doesn't.

So he scoops up a handful, shouts, "Snowball fight first!" and jumps into the fray, while the snow keeps on whirling down around them in wondrous, brilliant white.


	2. Under the Lights

_2. Under the Lights_

They almost kissed that night under the lights, after the underground city.

Carlos had told Cecil _I just wanted to see you_, and so Cecil, speechless, was now sitting beside him, his head on Carlos' shoulder, Carlos' hand upon his knee. Carlos must surely be exhausted—he'd moved so stiffly as he tried to get adjusted atop the car—but once pressed together side by side, Carlos' tension drained away. Cecil's own still quivered through his body in a bright, hopeful, sweetly terrified sort of way. For a few moments he just held still, trying to decide what to do.

Finally he turned his head inward, mostly for comfort. It also meant he was nosing lightly against Carlos' neck. He tried to take in every detail, from the soft brush of Carlos' hair to the smell of his skin. There was the hint of blood and antiseptic, unsettling signs of his mending wounds—but beyond that, there was simply warmth. And thankfully, there was so much life.

Cecil breathed it in with relief. In the midst of that breath, he moved too close, which bumped his own glasses awkwardly against Carlos' jaw.

Cecil laughed, low and embarrassed. Carlos might have smiled, too, although Cecil ducked his head too quickly to be sure. "Sorry," he murmured, while he tugged the glasses off and looked for something to wipe off the smudges. Carlos nudged him.

"Here," he said. When he took the glasses from Cecil's hands, their fingertips brushed. Cecil tensed in breathless reflex. "Let me."

Cecil did. He watched Carlos polish the lenses with a corner of his flannel shirt, then lift them to inspect the results against the lights. After a while he lowered his hand, still staring upwards. Cecil did the same.

"Can you still see them all right?" Carlos asked softly.

Cecil answered with a low "mmm-hmm." It was true enough; the lights above them glowed almost brighter, really, without pinpoint precision. But the way Carlos trembled at Cecil's voice, then leaned in closer again, felt much more important.

So he stayed there, wordless once more, while the lights shimmered and swirled above them both.

And they didn't kiss. Not quite. But their fingers interlaced, their breathing fell into a soft, shared rhythm, and they stayed together there in such companionable silence that Cecil thought he might be content to live in this moment forever.

If time slowed down even more than usual to give Cecil some fraction of that wish, not even Carlos, just this once, decided to question it.


End file.
